


And I Will Be Thy Slave

by KoreArabin



Category: Doctor Faustus - Christopher Marlowe
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bondage, Held Down, M/M, Nipple Play, Rimming, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: He lets his words drip, silkily, into Mephistopheles’ ear. “But I’ll punish you.”Mephistopheles grins again, and the brilliant eyes darken.“You can try.”





	1. Chapter 1

He is sitting in his familiar form when the door opens, crouched down, rocking on his heels. He is beautiful.

The white suit is as immaculate as ever, only sullied by the black charring at the ankles. Brilliant blue eyes follow him as he enters the room, and Mephistopheles grins his wide, shark-toothed grin.

“Faustus. Hi.”

“Are you ready to behave yourself?”

The grin widens. “Or what? You’ll go running to big scary daddy Lucifer and tell on me?”

Faustus stalks over to him, grabbing the collar of the immaculate white jacket and pulling him up by the scruff. Mephistopheles grunts, winded, as he’s shoved, hard, against the wall.

“No.” He lets his word drip, silkily, into Mephistopheles’ ear. “But I’ll punish you.”

Mephistopheles grins again, and the brilliant eyes darken.

“You can try.”


	2. Chapter 2

And so it begins. Occasionally he’ll allow Mephistopheles to have the upper hand, and leave him scratched and bruised, and sometimes bleeding. More often though, as now, it’s Faustus’s turn, and he is going to leave his Mephistopheles raw, sore, and fucked out.

Although in human form he is physically smaller than Faustus, no doubt his demon could throw him off with a shrug, but Mephistopheles knows that he must wait on him, and give him more than he has wit to ask. Knows he is his _slave_.

And so he drags Mephistopheles again by the scruff of his jacket, and grabs the waistband of his trousers, and all but hurls him on to the silken counterpane of the sumptuous bed his demon has so thoughtfully provided for their games. Mephistopheles stares up at him, panting, his arousal obvious against the straining crotch of the tight, white fabric of his suit trousers.

“Take off your jacket.”

Mephistopheles slips out of it and tosses it to the floor, leaning back on the bed and spreading his legs. His well-muscled chest and arms are covered with a fine sheen of sweat, but his body is of course always much warmer than those of mere mortals. The tattoo on his right shoulder has always seemed anomalous to Faustus, a flaw in the otherwise compactly perfect body. But then, one would not expect Lucifer to instruct his minions to obey the precepts of Leviticus.

Mephistopheles hisses as Faustus lays himself down on him, letting his demon take his full weight as he slides a leg between the spread thighs and begins to rock against Mephistopheles’s hardness.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're so wet."

He has often thought to engage Mephistopheles in a disputation on the nature of sexuality in Hell but, because of, or perhaps despite, Mephistopheles's reluctance to discuss certain matters, he has never done so. Faustus does not know whether his hesitation springs from a stalking fear that, now he knows Hell's not a fable, it may not be propitious for his wanton lasciviousness.

Yet it is generally accepted that angels do not have genitalia, whereas his deliciously accommodating Mephistopheles is what mere mortals would deem particularly well-endowed, especially for a relatively small man. Which would lead one to posit that Hell and sex are not mutually exclusive. Or has Mephistopheles's human form been lent such physical attributes as will make Faustus rue his damnation ever more keenly, when it comes?

For the moment, Faustus will put such vague imaginings aside, and concentrate on the squirming, moaning demon pinned under his weight.

"Yes, Faustus. I want you. Please, my master."

The tight white suit trousers are not so pristine now, soaked with Mephistopheles's pre-ejaculate. 

"I'll have you make yourself visible and wear these when I present you to my household, so that they see what a wanton little slut you are."

Mephistopheles makes no reply other than to groan and grind himself ever more forcefully against his master's body.


	4. Chapter 4

Faustus may thank heaven or hell for his magical abilities: now his Mephistopheles is trussed with the bare force of his thought, his sodden trousers torn away, arranged to his liking with his wrists secured behind him, his knees drawn wide apart beside his chest, and his ankles bound to his thighs. All those most private parts of a human male are totally exposed, his hips tilted upwards on the hands bound in the in the small of his back. 

Mephistopheles stares up at him, the brilliant blue eyes blown black with arousal, panting shallowly as he awaits, helpless, whatever Faustus has in store for him. Faustus leans down, dragging his thumb deliberately over Mephistopheles’s exposed, taut entrance, cupping his ballocks and lifting them, then trailing a fingernail up the swollen, straining prick. 

And the sounds his demon makes as he leans further in, spreading Mephistopheles's buttocks with his thumbs, and beginning to lap at his arsehole, are pure, unadulterated filth.

Faustus traces the rim of Mephistopheles’s entrance with the tip of his tongue, licking and sucking wetly, every nerve in the demon’s human body responding to the intimate caress, then laps, loud and dirty, at the halo of pale curls encircling his arsehole, Mephistopheles’s musk and sweat heavy on his tongue.

Mephistopheles struggles against his magical bondage, straining upwards with his hips, trying to get some purchase, some friction – anything – on his cock, but Faustus is a cruel master. He crawls up over Mephistopheles, avoiding his prick, and braces his open palm on his demon’s stomach, putting his weight on it and leaning down to lick and bite at Mephistopheles’s rosy little nipples. It’s a very crude and obvious additional evidence of his dominance here, yet satisfyingly effective as Mephistopheles grunts and squirms beneath him.


	5. Chapter 5

"What do you want?"

Faustus presses down harder, and Mephistopheles grunts in pain.

"Tell me, or I'll hurt you."

Mephistopheles stares up at him, slick pink tongue flicking at his lips even as his throat bobs as he swallows.

"The way you say that, you'd think I wouldn't enjoy it." 

Faustus laughs. "No, gentle Mephistopheles. The ways I'll hurt you? They shall not be in any way enjoyable. I'll make you rue the day your lord Lucifer ever let you into my service."

And, amazingly, it appears to work. Mephistopheles flinches, and whispers, "Master, what would you have me do?"

One would not think that he that saw the face of God, and tasted the eternal joys of heaven, would capitulate so readily. But Faustus is not so easily fooled, now. He once prided himself on his learning and intellect but realised, far too belatedly, that such pride masked a pervasive naivety about the universe and his place within it. Now, childish pranks and facile conjuring tricks aside, he views the world with far more acumen, and easily sees through Mephisopheles’s attempted deceit. His regret is that, as his acuity has increased, his thirst for knowledge has withered away to leave only a jaded cynicism which at times verges towards the sadistic.

Well, his demon will get what’s coming to him. "I'll have you spit yourself upon my prick and fuck yourself open."

Faustus schools his features and pretends not to register the flash of apprehension in Mephistopheles’s eyes. His language is never normally so coarse. His demon, accustomed to Faustus’s sexual teasing but also to his relative inexperience in matters of the flesh, stiffens with uneasiness.

To no avail - it's easy to manhandle Mephistopheles, trussed as he is. Faustus balances him on his straining cock, one hand holding him tight against him, the other at Mephistopheles's throat, then lets him sink down, mercilessly, until he is seated to the ballocks inside his struggling, squirming, demon.

"I bade you fuck yourself upon my prick, did I not?"

Faustus loosens the magical bindings on Mephistopheles’s legs, allowing them to fall open across his spread thighs. Mephistopheles's eyes fill with real human salt tears as he braces himself to ride as instructed, as well as he is able to, his wrists still bound in the small of his back and his legs scrambling for purchase against the slippery silken counterpane. 

"Harder, my sweetest Mephistopheles. You will ride me properly, until you're raw and sore, and I am _sated_."

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the RSC's Doctor Faustus, with Sandy Grierson and Oliver Ryan as Faustus/Mephistopheles, interchangeably. Oliver Ryan is the deliciously sexy little Mephistopheles here.


End file.
